


Rules

by MissNaya



Series: The Trouble With Instincts [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animal Instincts, Guilt, M/M, Violence, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Neither Bruce nor Slade are willing to let things go. Jason gets caught in the middle.Sequel to Fixation.





	Rules

**Author's Note:**

> so this technically comes in response to a request on [my tumblr,](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) but tbh I've been wanting to write a sequel to Fixation for a while. it's not as long or explicit as the first part, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway!
> 
> adding onto the normal ABO dynamics presented in the first one, this one deals with the idea of omegas wetting themselves to show submission if things get too intense. keep that in mind!

By the time Bruce got Jason home and cleaned up, Slade was long gone. It figures. He'd been intending to track him down anyway, and could have done it, but Gotham City is nothing if not hectic, and he had to think of the many before the few. Too many Arkham breakouts. Too many plots to kill innocents. And too much to worry about now, with Jason an unpredictable omega, even with Alfred there to keep an eye on him.

It's months before he crosses paths with Slade again. Tense months, spent battling criminals and trying to cope with having an omega in the house, so much different than the adolescent alpha that Dick was, so much harder to navigate around. Every time Jason goes into heat, Bruce thinks about what happened the first time, and he has to go out and punch muggers and bank robbers until his excess energy at last tapers down.

He can't imagine his temper ever cooling off when Slade, perched atop a nearby roof, calls out to them. Talking to them, but looking at Jason. Jason, whose outfit is still little more than cape, vest, and short pants. His Jason. His Robin. _His._

He doesn't even remember what Slade said, whether it was casual or sarcastic or designed to piss him off. He's not normally one to give himself over to instinct, but he can't help it now, and he throws himself into a fight without a second thought.

It starts out like normal, with batarangs and swords and guns and gadgets, but it isn't long before all of those get discarded in favor of something a little more natural: fists, feet, and teeth.

“You're not still mad,” Slade asks, “about my little gift, are you?”

Bruce says nothing and drives a fist into his face.

“He wanted it, you know,” Slade goes on after backflipping a few paces away. “I was shocked, myself. You should really keep a better hold of your pack, otherwise anyone could—”

He barely dodges the next punch thrown his way. They focus on the fight for another moment or two before Slade starts to taunt him again.

“He was so _tight,_ so wet... Took it so well, for someone so small.”

“I'm warning you, Slade.”

In response, Slade knees him in the weak spot between his breastplate and stomach armor. “You tried him out yet? You're missing out if you haven't.”

Bruce thinks he can hear someone else's voice, way past the ringing in his ears, but all he can focus on is Slade. He wants to break his neck with his bare hands, rip his throat out with his teeth, gouge out his other eye—

“The way he moans... When I win, I think I'll take him right here. Let you listen.”

He tastes blood. He sees red. Red and blue and orange and yellow, too, in his peripheral.

“Give it up. You can't win,” Slade says, and Bruce sees him reaching for a knife, and—

“Stop!” That voice finally comes through, loud and clear, and they both look over to see Jason on the roof (when did he get there?), looking so small and worried and his knees almost knocking together with how much they're shaking. “Stop, stop, _please—_ ”

And then he smells it on the air, the distinct tang of an omega waiting to be claimed. God. The poor kid's too young to be sitting at the sidelines of a battle for dominance, especially between two grown men. Bruce realizes with a sinking feeling that he shouldn't even _want_ to claim Jason, was just supposed to be protecting him, but now the thought of beating Slade and knotting Jason won't leave his head.

“Aww. What a sorry sight,” Slade says. “Don't worry. I'll take good care of him once I'm through with you.”

He picks the knife up, slams it down toward Bruce's face, and Jason cries out again.

It's a blur after that, so far from Bruce's usual planning and backup upon backup. He lets his body move on its own, wrestling the knife from Slade's grip, tangling with him as they roll across the roof, growling and snapping at each other like feral animals. At some point, Slade's mask gets clawed off, and Bruce feels even more motivated to win, to prove himself as the younger, stronger, more suitable mate. White hair, one eye, Slade's a _wreck,_ he shouldn't be around someone like Jason, he's not good for him, he might as well just _die already—_

All of a sudden, a scent hits his nose, far more concentrated than Jason's default pheromones. It's so strong that the both of them stop, riddled with bruises and cuts and embedded gravel, and look over to where Jason now kneels in a puddle of his own piss.

“I— _I—_ St-sto-op, I'm, I, Bruce, please, it's s-so— It's too—” he sobs, slumped forward with his hands between his legs. It's rare to see an omega piss themselves to show submission, but someone so young surrounded by pheromones from two alphas like Bruce and Slade never really stood a chance.

Bruce takes one last look at Slade, caught up in the sight, and grabs him by the face, slamming the back of his head into the concrete. He falls limp and unconscious underneath him.

It's a struggle to get close to Jason without ripping his clothes off. He wants nothing more than to bury his face between his thighs, lick the piss and slick from his adorable little body, then claim him, until all Jason can think about his who _really_ owns him.

And Jason makes it easy, yielding for him when he gets close, face pressed against the rooftop, ass raised in the air. Dripping wet.

Hell.

The whole way back to the cave, Jason sobs against him, begging for his attention, his sex, his knot. Bruce remains clothed and immovable as a brick wall, much as the need to act tears at him. But he can't. Batman doesn't take advantage of underage omegas. Batman _needs_ to stay on one side of that line. He can't even apologize, lips pressed into a tight line to keep from tasting Jason's scent on the air.

He lets Alfred tend to the boy when they get back, answering none of his questions, trying to ignore the judgment in his stare when he pieces things together. Jason gets sedated as a small mercy.

After he calms himself down, he'll start looking into a proper solution to this mess. He'll buy books, find resources, maybe— maybe even ask Dick for help. But for now, he goes to shower in the confines of his own master bathroom, bucking his knot into his hand and begging gods he doesn't believe in for forgiveness.

 


End file.
